


Someday

by DyrneKeeper



Category: Glee
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-05
Updated: 2013-02-05
Packaged: 2017-11-28 06:33:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,763
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/671392
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DyrneKeeper/pseuds/DyrneKeeper
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Kurt hasn't always known that they would end up, together, for the rest of their lives, but it's been close.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Someday

Sometimes, Kurt worries that Blaine isn't excited about this as he is. Isn't as excited about them as he is. Because living together isn't the fairytale they'd both thought it would be, back when they were starry-eyed seventeen-year-olds. They’d thought that if nothing could be as good as getting an hour to curl up together and just kiss, then nothing could possibly be better than living together; to get to kiss (and more) whenever they wanted to, without having to worry about homework or curfews or parents coming home from work early.

But living together – actually living together, instead of sharing an apartment with Rachel and with each other – isn't that different from being in high school, really. There's still schedules to keep and homework to do. If there's not curfews there's the knowledge that, if they don't go to sleep right now, it's going to be impossible to stay awake through class in the morning, and sex and even kissing gets postponed if one or the other of them is working on a tight deadline. Kurt knows he can be resentful when Blaine's too busy with an assignment or studying for an exam to answer a question with more than a few words or return a kiss with any feeling and then five minutes later bristle with annoyance when Blaine interrupts him with a song to listen to or warm arms around his waist and lips on his neck. Dirty dishes pile up and laundry doesn't get done and sometimes the strain of it all—having an apartment and graduating college and being in a relationship—just seems too much and he wants to scream with it.

That’s when he knows he has to stop, even if he doesn't always, right away. Stop whatever he's doing and tug Blaine out of his chair, into the shower or onto their bed, silencing his pro forma protests with his lips and tongue because they may say not now or can we later or I just have to finish– plenty but neither will deny the other when they're like this. Neither ever wants to, and Kurt’s vague half-formed doubts vanish in a blaze of heat and comfort.

Because all the mess and the stress doesn't mean that living together isn't wonderful. Because it really, really is. It's a cliché, but waking up next to each other—even if there's only a few short minutes between the alarm and “shit, I'm gonna be late,” and rolling out of bed—is amazing. All the pressure and sniping of midterms and finals and tech weeks pays off when they finally have a free Saturday with nothing to do except stay in bed and study each other, learning each other all over again and falling that much more in love. Or Sunday afternoons where they throw off studying altogether and just wander around the city, to Times Square, or Central Park; holding hands down the glitter and gleam of Broadway, Blaine crowding Kurt against the doors of the subway, kissing him because even if people are staring no one really cares, and it's everything Kurt's dreamed of since the first time he came here, except better.

It's the magic of those days and the simple, precious gems of every day moments—Kurt meeting Blaine with coffee and a hand to hold on the walk back from his evening classes, washing dishes together and singing too loudly to the stereo cranked up in the living room, doing homework together curled up at opposite ends of the couch—those moments that make them them no matter where they are or what they're doing and that make Kurt sure that what they've got going is amazing. It doesn't match his high school fantasies, but only because his imagination hadn't been good enough.

It's just that recently—and Kurt would, at many points in his life, would never have thought it would be possible, but—it feels like something's missing. It's nothing between them, really (except that, really, it sort of is)— if Kurt keeps thinking in parentheticals he's going to go crazy, because he's never done well with nested meanings; he's very much more direct.

He just doesn't know how to be direct about this.

Because he doesn't know if Blaine's ready. He doesn't know if Blaine wants to wait until they're done with school, really done, not just undergrad but grad school, too. He knows Blaine wants it, someday; they've debated the benefits of June versus October (June), whether to let Rachel make a toast (ehhh), where they'd take their honeymoon if they somehow won the lottery (Paris). But if someday is still sort of far away then there's no way to say “I love you, darling, but what we have doesn't feel like enough anymore” without sounding either impatient or insensitive.

Kurt hasn't always thought that they would end up, together, for the rest of their lives, but it's been close. They'd been dating for four heady, breathtaking, glorious months the night they'd sat together, sides pressed close against each other and gripping each others' hands painfully, watching politicians they'd never heard of two weeks ago but now whose names and positions they can recite from memory make final awkwardly long speeches and then finally—finally—vote.

Kurt and Blaine aren’t not from New York but they'd made calls, too, had sent emails and had even talked, daydream-fashion, about getting on a bus bound for Albany. And as much as Kurt had wished, in the last few days, that he could be there, holding (tastefully colored) signs and cheering with the tense, exhausted crowds there's nowhere else he'd have rather been right then than here, with Blaine and his family, all crowded around the TV and wondering if they're about to watch history or another disappointing failure. It's been silent, for the last hour; they've hashed out all the what ifs and Lanza saids dozens of times and now it just makes Kurt sick to think about any more, to know that he can read all the hopeful predictions and optimistic polls on all the blogs he wants, but it still won't control this outcome. So he sits and tries not to break Blaine's fingers and waits.

When it finally comes it's almost anticlimactic and he almost misses it because it happens so quickly. Blaine whoops and launches himself up, dragging Kurt with him, and pulls him into a hug so tight Kurt thinks he hears his ribs creak. They're all laughing and shouting and hugging except that Kurt feels like crying a little, too, because this is historic and amazing and it's almost too much. New York, sixth state to legalize same-sex marriage. New York, second most populous state in the country. But all Kurt can think about right now—and it's crazy, it's absolutely insane—is New York, where he and Blaine are going to be going to college, next year, together.

Finn's still cheering ecstatically and his dad is raising his glass at the still-blaring television and Carole is wiping her eyes on a paper napkin and Blaine is there, still there, gripping his hand like he'll never let go. Kurt pulls his boyfriend in for another embrace, burying his face on his shoulder and just breathing. It's amazing and he doesn't have even close to the right words. He feels Blaine's arms shift around him, one sliding down to hold him tight around the waist, the other loosening to draw Kurt's arm down, slide down his sleeve, wind their fingers together.

“Kurt,” Blaine says, in that soft way he always does that makes Kurt's heart stop a little, every time, not quite fully enunciating the t so that he holds the sound softly between his lips, never rushed, never curt. Blaine sounds like he might be ready to cry a little, too, and Kurt is hit anew with amazement that he has this now, that he has a boy who understands this, can understand how important every tiny victory is, how something like this is nearly mind blowing. “Kurt,” he repeats, squeezing his fingers tighter, and Kurt's heart nearly skips a beat because, unless he's very much mistaken, Blaine's softly stroking his thumb across the fourth finger of Kurt's left hand.

He pulls his head back to look his boyfriend in the eye, and Blaine's voice is so low he can barely hear it, but he can feel the vibrations low in his chest. “I know it's crazy, but, if we were older, I – ” and Kurt kisses him, then, because he can't stand not to anymore, and he reads in Blaine's eyes the seeds of a promise neither of them are ready to make yet. But they will be someday.

Someday.

Kurt's used to being ahead of Blaine on things like this. He's always been more aware of his feelings, faster to run and faster to fall. But it's been years, now, since he's had this feeling, of being very, very sure of his own mind, just waiting for Blaine to catch up but wondering (angstily, because he knows he will eventually) if he ever really will.

He hasn't always been this ready, Kurt knows, and it's not fair to Blaine to be frustrated with him when Kurt himself has only figured out how much he himself wants this in the last few months. Not that long ago, the thought of marriage and forever terrified him, though he'd never really been sure why. He'd had no doubt that he was going to spend the rest of his life with Blaine, one way or another, and the mere thought of breaking up and facing the world alone after everything they'd done and been together was enough to make his head swim and his arms reach out to his boyfriend, seeking his warmth and reassurance. But actually making that commitment, not just with words whispered on pillows but signed on paper, just seemed so hopelessly grown up and Kurt hadn't been sure if he was ready for that, yet—in fact, he was sure he wasn't.

If he had been ready, then last year at Thanksgiving he wouldn't have reacted the way he had, when they'd been in Kurt's kitchen back home in Ohio, talking sweetly and excitedly about the elaborate dinners they'd have in their apartment someday. Blaine had snuck up behind Kurt as he'd rinsed dishes in the sink, spun him around and fallen to his knees in front of him, mouth open to belt some song coming on over the radio, and Kurt had frozen. Mouth open, eyes wide, wet hands dripping onto the floor and Blaine had laughed nervously, asked “What's wrong?”

Kurt had had to swallow twice before he had enough moisture in his mouth to reply, “Nothing, you just scared me – ”

Thinking of his doubt in the same thought as the plans he's already begun to make makes him feel disloyal and wretched and scared. Kurt can’t imagine not having Blaine in his life, but he wonders what it means that the thought of promising to stay with him forever makes him want to run or fall asleep and not wake up for a decade, when he’s far older and wiser.

It's not until New Year's that he works up the nerve to ask his father about it, as they fuss together over the stove, Finn and Blaine absorbed in an brutal pre-party Nintendo Tetris battle.

“I'm scared,” Kurt admits, and Burt nods, understanding, like he always does, without any more words.

“It's a scary thing,” he acknowledges. “But just because you're not ready now doesn't mean you're not ever going to be. When you are, you'll know.”

He goes up to his room later that afternoon, pulls down the box where he keeps his wedding paraphernalia. Tucked inside, underneath last season's bridal magazines and fading, carefully pressed daisies are other items, added each time he's been home for a visit. Sketches of ivory lilies rustle against swatches of navy fabric, and Kurt bites his lip as he pulls out a piece of paper on which he's tentatively calligraphed their names, fluorishes twining the familiar strokes together into something new and wonderful—and frightening.

For once, the sight doesn't excite him; it terrifies him. Weddings are something that happen to other people, and, like every other good thing in his life, something he once never believed he'd have and something that might end in heartbreak. Just because they get married doesn't mean that divorce isn't down the road for them, or infidelity, or god, a speeding bus. There are a thousand and one things that could go wrong, and then all his pretty dreams would go up in smoke.

Blaine finds him a little later, after he's shoved the box back in the closet and curled up on his bed with a stack of old magazines.

"Hey, what're you doing?" he asks, standing in the door and leaning against the frame, with a smile that Kurt knows would make his knees weak at twice the distance. "People are starting to show up." As evidence of his words, there's a clatter from downstairs, the banging of the door, and Artie's distinctive "what up, yo!" floats up the stairs, followed by laughter; Kurt thinks he can pick out Rachel's delighted giggle. He sets aside his magazine and shrugs.

"Nothing. Just thinking," he looks over his shoulder, out the window.

"What about?" Blaine's voice is closer now, and when Kurt looks back he's standing next to the bed, hands in his pockets and with worry tinging his smile.

"Just...the future,” Kurt admits, his voice feeling small. “It scares me sometimes."

"Of course it does," Blaine says, sliding onto the bed and grinning. "Where’s the excitement if it's not a little scary?"

Kurt gives his boyfriend a watery smile, wondering when his always-cautious, always-confident boyfriend had become someone who rushed so determinedly into challenges. He realizes for the first time that it might be because of him; that he's had as profound effect on Blaine over the years as Blaine's had on him.

"That doesn't mean things are always going to go right," Blaine amends, grin fading to a more sober expression as he searches Kurt's face. "But as long as I've got you, I know I can do anything." He squeezes Kurt's hand, and Kurt has to roll his eyes at his cheesy sincerity, but he knows Blaine means it, and suddenly all his abstract fears seem so much more distant and just that – abstract. What is real is the young man in front of him and the life they've already started building with each other. And he knows, with a glance at the box tucked away on his closet shelf as Blaine tugs him to his feet and kisses him soundly before leading him downstairs by the hand, that the idea of actually being together forever isn't an idea he has to get used to; it's been the reality of every day of his life since he was seventeen.

That night he had laughed and danced with his friends and kissed Blaine at midnight in the room they'd made their first young promise in and saw the promise of soon in his eyes. As the months went by he had thought about it more and more, and the more really ready he felt for it, and the more it seemed silly that they were putting it off any longer.

Of course, getting over – growing out – of his nerves and hesitation isn't the work of one night, and Kurt's nerves don't disappear completely. In a way, it's like sex, Kurt realizes; an idea he has to get used to and get comfortable with before he really can think of it as a reality, as a real possibility for him. But, like with sex, eventually he reaches a point when he doesn't want that last barrier between them anymore, didn't want to have to shy away and back off and cool down anymore because he didn't want to shy away and back off and cool down, he wanted Blaine's body and he wanted Blaine to have his; he wanted them to have everything together.

Still, he remembers the sinking sensation in his stomach, the feeling of not-ready, over the holidays. He tries to by sympathetic and patient with Blaine, knowing how awful and how guilty he would feel if Blaine was ready and impatient when Kurt wasn't yet. So he doesn't press and he doesn't ask even though some days having to say my boyfriend instead of my fiancé or my husband just seems so shallow and impermanent and that's not what he wants the world to see; he wants the world to know how incredible they are, together, forever.

In June they're back in Ohio for a few weeks after graduating, enjoying an all-too-short break before internships and summer jobs begin.

The house is too big for Carole and Burt, most of the year, with their boys gone, but Kurt knows it will be years before they finally give it up to move to something smaller, if they ever do. Whenever he and Finn are home, for a few days or for a month, it fills again, with siblings and friends and laughter, and he knows his parents, happy as they are with their work and with each other, love having them all there again.

It's an unseasonably cool evening when they start to get restless. They’ve spent all day helping Kurt's parents repaint the living room, and after dinner Blaine suggests they go for a walk. His boyfriend has been unusually quiet all day, and Kurt jumps at the offer, eager to have some time with just the two of them and also a little worried. The past few months have been so busy, with job applications and tying up loose ends at school and, finally, graduation, that they’ve spent much of their time slipping past each other, each mired in their own details. Kurt knows Blaine’s tired but he’s also afraid he’s unhappy, and it does nothing to dull the sharp question mark that’s beginning to etch itself around someday.

It's raining, and they help each other into their coats at the front door before stepping out into a hint of fog that turns the streetlights into unearthly nimbi, and Kurt gasps. It's like a movie scene, except that it's too beautiful, too real, and Blaine is solid and present, not an actor, not a fantasy, beside him, hand reassuringly strong and warm as he laces his fingers with Kurt's.

They walk all around the old familiar neighborhood, as the sky grows darker and the streetlit fog glows brighter. Blaine is beautiful in the chiffon shadows, and Kurt allows himself the luxury of staring. Blaine catches his eye and smiles, and Kurt doesn't notice that they've stopped walking until Blaine leans against the dewed pillar of a streetlamp, eyes at once hooded and bright, alight with an energy that Kurt hasn’t seen in weeks. "See something you like?" he quirks, and Kurt grins back, feels his face crease into the cheek-splitting smile only Blaine and joy can bring (and are those two things so different? He thinks not) and brushes his fingers against Blaine's cheek. "Just you," he murmurs.

Blaine kisses his fingertips then takes his hand, running his thumb over Kurt's knuckles, and suddenly something in the air electrifies, or perhaps the glowing fog has come to life and worked its way into their skin; all at once the world feels at once sharp and hazy and the only thing grounding him is the warmth of Blaine's hand on his.

“Kurt,” Blaine says, sounding...awed? his voice like raindrops falling on seeded ground, like a lock clicking open, and a warmth settles into the air around them despite the chill of the evening sliding by on their electrified skin. "Kurt," his name, again, and he lifts his gaze to Blaine's face, sees a look that makes him almost want to blush and turn away, it's so private and intimate. But that look is for him, and instead he meets Blaine's gaze, eyes wide and understanding, What are you asking? and Ask me all at the same time.

There's no fanfare, no romantic speeches, just a voice he's known forever transformed and yet wholly the same, leaning forward and breathing two words in Kurt's ear. "Marry me." A shuddering breath and Kurt can feel Blaine trembling, can feel it in the frissons of the air around them, can feel it in the way Blaine's breath stutters on his cheek, the warmth the only Spring he'll ever need. And then his name, again, a third time like the final words of a spell: "Kurt, will you, please?" And Kurt knows he doesn't need to answer in words, there, but the question hangs in the air, uncertain (but oh so certain) airwaves humming vibrations and begging for a reply, and his soul thrills to them.

"Yes, yes, oh, Blaine, yes, I love you, I love you, I love you – " The air is crushed from his lungs as Blaine seizes him, wraps him in a hug so tight Kurt can't tell where his body ends and Blaine's begins.

After a long moment they pull apart, and Kurt knows, can see it in the way Blaine is looking at him, (knew it the same way he did before Blaine kissed him for the first time, the first time they said "I love you”) that he hadn't planned it out, but now that the moment's here there's no other way it could have happened, out of the blue and unexpected and so, so, right.

Because this is how they do it; magic moments spun out of the thread of ordinary days. They are performers and always will be, they will always love the excitement of the fanfares and the dramatic crescendos, but when it's just them, alone, their future held in their clasped hands, they don't need belted declarations of devotion or the gleaming glare of spotlights; all they need is the whisper of air in their lungs and the flash of reflected starlight in their eyes.

Later, there will be tearful, thrilled congratulations when they return home, but for long long time they stand there, in the cold June twilight on an unremarkable sidewalk in Middle of Nowhere, Ohio. Kurt knows that there will always be things that will seem frightening if not downright terrifying; but about this, about them, about Kurt-and-Blaine, he has no doubts.

**Author's Note:**

> Oh my god fluff. And feelings. Fluffy fluffy feelings. It’s not my fault, I swear!
> 
> This is not the first reaction fic to the new New York law out there and certainly not the last, but plot bunnies showed up and refused to stop eating my homework until I wrote this. (Also, srsly, I have never loved my home state so much. Go New York!). Unbetaed because mtonbury refused to read anything so saturated in Klaine fluff. Your loss, dearest.
> 
> Originally posted on LJ 8/1/11.


End file.
